In the Still of the Night
by gigundoly
Summary: Written for ARPFics for the ArTina Fic-a-Thon! One week after attending the funeral, she received a postcard in the mail with the words, "I'm not dead. Meet me tonight at Guido's Pizzeria. Tell no one."


Author's Introduction: It is my priviledge to bring you the first story of the ArTina fic-a-thon! (For more information, see troubadette's profile.) I received my prompt last night, and was initially very worried that I couldn't pull it off. But it seems like 2 AM is the perfect time to write creepy stories. (It turned out very, very creepy!) This is a **one-shot**, and it's for the lovely **ARPFics**, the brilliant creator of the prompt. Here was the prompt:

One week after attending the funeral of a close friend, you receive a postcard in the mail with the words, "I'm not dead. Meet me tonight at Guido's Pizzeria. Tell no one."

The author can work this however they want. 'You' can be Artie or Tina and the dead character can definitely be either of them. Or they can be together and the dead character can be someone else. I don't really care either way; I just really wanna see this in gleeverse

* * *

_In the Still of the Night_

"I'm sorry, too," he said. "I'm sorry that now you get to be normal, and I'm gonna be stuck in this chair for the rest of my life. And that's not something I can fake."

Had I known that these would be the last words I'd ever hear him say, I would have run after him to fix things. And even if running after him didn't fix my mistake, it would have at least delayed him long enough to alter fate. If he'd waited a few more minutes, he wouldn't have rolled his chair in front of a bus. Wouldn't have died. Wouldn't have left me here with those awful parting words, neither of us knowing just how little time left he had in that chair and on this earth.

People who know they're dying make a point to get their affairs in order before the end. They get in touch with long lost relatives, plan dream vacations, and resolve petty conflicts between friends. People who don't know they're dying go on as if there's no hurry to clean up life's messes. It's terribly unfair for the latter of the two.

After Artie's funeral, my secret died with him. I became irrationally fearful that the truth about my stuttering might somehow kill another friend so I never stopped. As a matter of fact, my stuttering got worse after Artie died. I added a repetitive hand movement and started blocking on words, my mouth open and groping to utter sound as the words got stuck in my throat. Yes, my stutter became real after Artie's death. Like death, I had no control over the stutter. My lie became my truth.

And then that postcard came for me, in penmanship that couldn't be mistaken: "I'm not dead. Meet me tonight at Guido's Pizzeria. Tell no one."

What could I do? Assuming it was an awful joke and showing up with reinforcements, namely, Finn and Puck as my body guards seemed like a good option. And yet that irrational fear that now controlled everything I did told me not to do that. The card had specifically ordered me not to tell anyone else about the meeting. And though I'd been to his funeral, I'd never actually laid eyes on a body. I had to investigate for myself, had to water the tiny seed of hope that had been planted in me. Artie might be alive!

But as I pulled up to the tiny downtown restaurant, all the windows were dark. I ran to the door to see if I'd somehow reached the wrong address, but in tiny white lettering, the restaurant's name was written on the glass door. The problem was that the place was closed on Monday, and today just so happened to be Monday. Angry and desperate to know who had done this, who had brought me here as a cruel joke, I banged angrily on the door, shouting for someone to come and answer it. As I beat it with my fists, it suddenly swung open on its own. I swallowed hard and stepped inside.

I'd been to the restaurant before, but it looked different tonight. Thick white fog drifted up from the floor, creating a haze that totally obscured the fifties style pizzeria that I'd visited once for a Glee club party. As I wandered further inside the empty diner, I could hear music playing. In the corner of the room, the juke box was lit up, playing a classic melody...

_In the still of the night  
I held you, held you tight  
'Cause I love, love you so  
Promise I'll never let you go  
In the still of the night_

A long figure was standing next to the juke box, leaning casually against it. When he saw me, he came closer until I could finally make out his face. I was starting up at Artie. Wordlessly, he took me by the waist and we began to dance...

I couldn't speak for what felt like an hour, like the worst kind of silent block, but it had nothing to do with my stutter. I wanted to know how it was possible that Artie was here, dancing with me on his own two feet, and yet I was afraid to ask. I feared the answer, thinking I might not like it if he told me.

But, without my asking, he spoke anyway. "You want to know how it is that I'm not dead," he said. "How it is that I'm not in a wheelchair? And maybe you even want to know why it is that you can't stop stuttering."

"I d-d-don't," I suddenly found myself begging. "Please... dddddon't tell me. I'd rather just have this mo-mo-moment, Artie, c-c-c-can we? You and I, dancing together, it's... ( my mouth twisted and contorted, trying to form the word)... pppppperfect."

"It isn't perfect," Artie argued, but he pulled me in closer as if to soften the blow. "It's imaginary."

"I c-c-couldn't imagine aaaannnnnyyything better." It was like someone had attached a rubber band to the word, forcing me to stretch it out.

He frowned. "How about being able to talk without stuttering?"

"I-I-I'd stutter if you could walk," I managed to say in a reasonably fluent manner, having been so sure of what I was going to say before the words left my lips.

I put my head on his shoulder as we swayed, our bodies touching. How I'd wanted to hold him this way, ever since the first day he'd found me sitting alone at my lunch table and rolled up to say hello.

"You can't have this," he whispered, breaking up my reverie. "I'm not dead, Tina."

"I... I know that."

He sighed impatiently, shrugging his shoulder to force me to move my head. I looked into his piercing blue eyes and they seemed to be accusing me now. "Because I was never _alive_, Tina," he said. "You're a shy girl with one of the worst stuttering problems that your doctor has ever encountered. They've tried really experimental treatments with your brain, Tee. Treatments that made you see things that weren't there. Treatments that made you create a best friend who could understand your pain."

I bit my lip. "I'm s-s-s-sorry I put you in the chair, Artie. If I had known how ha-ha-hard it wwwwwoooooouuuuuld be for you."

He brushed a strand of hair out of my face and said, gently, "Taking me out of the chair doesn't make me real, Tina. Killing me would be in your best interests. You have real friends now."

A tear rolled down my cheek. "C-c-can I just have you instead?"

He sighed, but gave a nod and gently guided my head back down his shoulder. We continued to dance as I closed my eyes.

_In the still of the night  
I held you, held you tight  
'Cause I love, love you so  
Promise I'll never let you go  
In the still of the night_


End file.
